


Exercises

by Rubynye



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Master/Slave, Pregnant Sex, Roman Empire, Slavery, Unloved wives need love too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:48:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26437474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: Glyke and her Mistress prepare for her coming baby.
Relationships: Aristocratic Roman woman / Her child's wet nurse, Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Comments: 8
Kudos: 30
Collections: Classical Flash 2020





	Exercises

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KannaOphelia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KannaOphelia/gifts).



> Written for the Classical Flash Challenge. KannaOphelia, your prompts are glorious! I'm sorry this isn't longer, and I do hope you enjoy it!

“Glyke, my dove, come here?” roused the named girl from her slumber. Her Mistress’s beloved voice rang down the hall to where she sat on a bench at ease; this whole household spoiled her most dreadfully, Glyke thought with a twinge of guilt as she heaved herself to her feet. Even her new name suited her better.

And her new Mistress suited her best of all. “Coming, my Lady!” She called, because she could, because silence wasn’t required of her in this bright house her good fortune had brought her to. Her Mistress pushed open the door to the Domina’s Study and stood there smiling in the sunlight, waiting for Glyke as she plodded down the hall. Bearing a child was such a weighty blessing.

Soon enough Glyke reached her Mistress and made a proper obeisance, which showed her the ink dappling those long beautiful hands. “Oh my Lady!” Glyke cried, as the door shut behind her. “Let me fetch a basin!”

“No need, Glyke, no need, you brought in water this morning, do you not remember?” Glyke looked up dismayed and her Mistress smiled upon her, the light gilding errant wisps of her hair. She did tend to pull upon it while writing. “Do not worry on it. Bearing a child can muddle the memory, I have read.”

Her forehead creased with brief worry, for both of them, all of them. But the door was closed and Glyke knew her pleasantest duties. She pressed forward, laying one hand boldly on her Mistress’s belly and her head to her shoulder. “We will all live,” she whispered, too low for jealous Fates to hear, and her Mistress brushed grateful lips across Glyke’s brow.

Then Glyke stepped back, and waddled across the room to wet a cloth and bring it back, to wipe her Mistress’s hands clean of ink and toil. “How go the words, my Lady?” She asked, a little surprised at her own boldness, even though she’d been told it was wanted.

Glyke’s Mistress laughed merrily, and Glyke’s heart rose in triumph at her cheer. “Well enough, well enough. At this pace I should have the book done by the time I’m as gravid as you are now.” Glyke nodded. As close as they could tell, she was three months further ahead than her Mistress, having been purchased in her fourth month as a reward for her Lady’s conception. “And how are you doing? Any firm spasms?”

“Not as yet, my Lady.” Whose hands were clean, so Glyke lifted them and kissed them, and watched her Lady smile. When she was first brought to her she was so wan and pale, lonely for her husband traveled extensively and was hardly at home when in Rome. The other slaves whispered that their Mistress was sad and quiet, but from the first moment she and Glyke took a liking to each other, and now her face glowed with pregnancy and happiness. 

“You are too good to me,” murmured her Mistress now, folding her hands around Glyke’s. “And I called you here for an exercise, if you would,” made Glyke’s face glow even as she looked down bashfully.

Then she looked up again, and said clearly as she knew her Mistress wished to hear, “Of course I would, my Lady.”

The little line crinkled in between her Mistress’s eyes, as she murmured in her most serious tones, “And you would tell me if you would not?” Every so often she asked, until Glyke might almost forget she were a slave, to be asked for her favor, her choice.

As if she wouldn’t want to. “I would,” she promised, squeezing her Lady’s hands. “Plautia Pulcherra,“ reciting her Lady’s name, basking in her Lady’s smile.

“Then let us get you up on my desk,” said Glyke’s Mistress, taking firm hold of Glyke’s waist and swinging her around, as Glyke stood on tiptoes to push herself up. When she was safely seated her Lady unfastened her dress, and smiled at what she saw as it slid down to pool around Glyke’s hips, baring her full breasts. “We must make sure your body is ready for your baby’s arrival.” And as she lifted one hand to cup Glyke’s breast, thumbing her nipple till it leaked, and slipped the other between Glyke’s willing thighs, she leaned in to kiss Glyke, and most daringly of all, Glyke lifted her arms around her Mistress and unreservedly kissed her back.

**Author's Note:**

> Somehow it's a lot easier to write slavery in the Classical world than in more recent eras. Even so, I've only touched on the shiny tip of a very complex iceberg of a relationship. I may return to Glyke and Plautia and the messier aspects of domestic slavery in the Roman world.


End file.
